Chapter 2: The One She Gave to Bhima

The mountains were quieter after that night.

The baby—Agnika—had not cried once since Draupadi brought her back. She slept beside her like they had always belonged to each other. As if she had been born from Draupadi’s sorrow, not from any womb.

The brothers took turns watching the child, but only when Draupadi was truly tired would she let someone else hold her.

Today, that someone was Bhima.

Or so Draupadi thought.

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She wrapped Agnika in soft cotton and turned toward Bhima, who was sharpening his blade near the cave entrance.

> “Bhima,” she called, “come here.”

He stood immediately, dropping the blade with a grunt. “Is something wrong?”

She smiled. “Nothing’s wrong. I need to grind millet. Hold her for a while.”

Bhima looked at the baby in her arms as if she were a sword he didn’t know how to use.

> “Me? What if she cries?”

“She won’t. Just rock her gently. She likes that.”

Bhima hesitated. “Why don’t you give her to Yudhishthir? He’s sitting like a statue anyway.”

Draupadi raised a brow. “Because I’m asking you.”

He blinked, heart skipping.

“…Me?” he said again, softer this time, stepping forward like a boy being chosen for the first time.

She placed Agnika in his massive arms. The child blinked slowly, staring up at Bhima’s thick beard and wide eyes.

He rocked her once.

She let out a tiny sneeze and smiled.

Bhima gasped. “She smiled! She actually smiled at me! Krishnaa! Did you see?”

Draupadi chuckled, stepping away. “I told you she likes you.”

Bhima turned to follow her. “Wait—you gave her to me. That means something, doesn’t it?”

“Means what?”

He puffed his chest. “It means you trust me the most. Care for me the most. Love me the most.”

She paused mid-step, folding her arms with a playful smirk. “Is that what you think, Bhima?”

He nodded solemnly, still bouncing Agnika. “I fight for you. I cook for you. I carried you through the forest on my shoulders like you were air itself. Even the trees whispered, ‘That’s the one who loves her most!’”

From the corner of the cave, Nakul snorted.

Draupadi rolled her eyes. “You’re being dramatic again.”

Bhima leaned down, now whispering to Agnika like it was a secret:

> “She loves me the most. She just won't admit it in front of everyone.”

Agnika giggled.

Bhima gasped again. “She agrees!”

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Draupadi shook her head, a real smile breaking through her usual quiet grief.

> “If you love me so much, Bhima, protect this child like your own.”

He stilled.

Then looked down at the baby in his arms, who had curled a tiny finger around the string of beads on his wrist.

Something shifted in his face—softness, wonder, something ancient and warm.

> “Then she is mine,” he whispered. “And anyone who dares touch her…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

But the mountains heard the promise.

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That night, as the fire crackled and the wind howled outside, Agnika slept in Bhima’s lap. His back rested against the cave wall, his body curled protectively around her.

Draupadi, watching from the other side of the fire, whispered,

> “Maybe you’re right, Bhima. Maybe I do love you… more than I let myself believe.”

But Bhima was already asleep, snoring lightly—his arms wrapped around their little fireborn mystery.

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Absolutely — here's a poetic and emotional continuation of Chapter 2, where Bhima, the feared warrior, privately speaks to little Agnika, who sees beyond his strength and scars. This scene deepens their bond beautifully.

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🌙 Additional Scene: “Why Do You Smile at Me?”

The night had settled deep.

The cave was dim, with only the quiet pop of firewood and the steady hum of crickets outside. Everyone else had fallen asleep. Yudhishthir’s chest rose and fell in even rhythm. Draupadi slept on a rolled-up blanket, her arm stretched protectively toward the fire.

Only Bhima was awake.

He sat in the corner of the cave, cradling the sleeping child in his arms. Agnika's tiny body rested against his chest, her breaths soft and warm.

Bhima looked down at her, eyes gentle—so unlike the eyes the world feared.

He shifted slightly and whispered, as if confessing to the stars.

> “Everyone fears me, you know…”

Agnika stirred, but didn’t cry. She blinked up at him sleepily, her eyes like pools of calm.

> “Even when I was a boy… they said I was too loud, too strong, too much. They called me beast, giant, demon-son. I fought back. I had to.”

He swallowed.

> “Even my own brothers—sometimes, they flinch when my voice rises. I see it. I hear it in how they speak when they think I’m not listening. They admire me, yes. But they’re also… scared.”

He looked at the baby in his arms, and for a moment, his voice softened into something almost childlike.

> “But you… you just smile at me.”

Agnika, awake now, reached up and touched his nose with her small fingers.

Bhima froze.

Then let out a breathless laugh. “Do you know who I am, little one? I once tore a demon in half. I broke Duryodhana’s pride with my bare hands. I crushed elephants like they were clay toys.”

A pause.

> “And yet you look at me like I’m soft. Like I’m safe.”

His eyes shimmered.

He leaned down and rested his forehead gently against hers.

> “Why do you smile at me, Agnika?”

The child gurgled quietly, one hand wrapping around the string of Rudraksha beads tied at his wrist.

> “Do you see something they don’t?” he whispered. “Do you… know who I really am?”

Agnika let out a content sigh and nestled closer.

Bhima held her tighter, a strange warmth spreading in his chest—the kind of warmth that battle could never give him.

> “Fine,” he whispered with a small, crooked smile. “Then let them fear me. As long as you don’t.”

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From across the cave, Draupadi stirred but didn’t open her eyes. She heard every word. And for the first time in weeks, her lips curved into a smile before sleep reclaimed her.

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